Hardly anything there for you to see

P. Athras | Lebannin

POSTED: Fri Sep 13, 2019 6:50 pm

Pim had been clingier than usual of late and, feeling sorry for him, Percival had let the trusty old ox follow him away from Rhovanion towards the Lowlands. They kept an easy pace, happy in the company of one another despite the young man's goal. It felt like the old days, in those happier times after things had gotten a little better, when Pim had become one of his only constants. They had relied on one another then and both of them had been stronger for it.

But life in New Caledonia was an adjustment, and it seemed that the long-horned bovine was struggling just a little harder with that than Percy was.

Guiding the ox through the grasses that sprawled, virgin and green, through and around the gently rolling hills that he had come to call Lebannin, Percival sought out the section of river where he had situated the weir. Fish traps such as these had not been particularly common in Krokar, but they had been used on occasion and he remembered talk of their construct from his life growing up in a pack that had prided itself in its fishing prowess.

The idea itself was simple enough: using poles to create a funnel-like shape within the river and netting to keep the fish from swimming further, the current of the river would trap them between the thongs of poles upstream and the netting downstream and allow the trapper to collect their catch whenever time allowed. As far as Percival was concerned, it was fool-proof, and he had high expectations for the yield his construct would provide him.

Wooden poles poked above a gently meandering river and the bearded Parhelion spied them with relief, scratching Pim's cheek cheerily as he adjusted course and made a beeline toward it. With an almost giddy sense of anticipation, he hoped that the netting would be enough to carry the significant amount of fish he was certain to have caught. What a shame it would be, he thought as the smell of the river intensified, to have to let some go because he couldn't contain them all!

Letting Pim go to graze, Percival started hopefully toward the weir.

OOC: for Piscator! Check on some of the nets or the traps that you set earlier to see if anything has fallen for the bait!

[WC — 371]


New Caledonia
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Mandi
Luperci Diplomat I, Piscator I we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(
Brave New World
timshel

POSTED: Wed Sep 25, 2019 3:52 pm

[504]

To every beginning an end, and every end a new beginning. The whisper of the wind sent a leaf into flight, an omen or herald: the first sign that summer’s death had come once more. Floating lazily on the breeze it at last came to settle before the hooves of a great beast. The dull grey of Hasufel’s hooves touched down upon the earth as his master bade him pause. A shadow, or a man bent before it to gather the first of fall’s casualties with reverence and reflection. He turned it about in agile fingers, tracing the veins of its pale golden shape, feeling its jagged edges. Vivid cyan eyes hued as sharply as gemstone closed pensively. Whispered words caressed the drying leathery flesh in soft solemn puffs of breath before the eyes again opened, stark in their russet mask. The shadow reached gently into the folds of his robe to place his treasure in an inside pocket where it would remain until the sun began to set and dusk was upon them once again.

At the border of the Enedwaith, its birches skeletal and parched with cracked bark like fissures in their wooden flesh the Lord leapt lightly upon his stallion’s back and together they rode into the valley of Lebennin. Scent trails those fading and recent spoke to him in many voices, and yet one in the same. Over months the stories of the past began to fade, origins of birth made less and less of a difference as the territory of New Caledonia marked them and made them one. And yet, those of the Shoal were singular in hobby and purpose. They tread here more often than most and as a result were fairly easy to track.

Athras thought of Willow and the conversation they’d held by the water not long past: of gods as old as Caledonia itself. It was difficult to stay away, not when she dwelled so near, and he had the intention of seeing her when something else gave him pause. A great bull in the distance, grazing and a young man striding purposefully towards the river. Lebennin was mostly flat, the valley bedded in lush green grasses and hills that rolled but gently. He could see the pair of them in sharp relief against the verdant earth and, curious, guided Hasufel at a steady pace towards them.

The closer he came the more knowing Athras’s smile. The wiry hair and bearded muzzle marked him as a Cormier, his frame rough-coated and hardy. Could this be Percival, the young man the King regarded so warmly? “Ah, another Cormier.” The Lord beamed, drawing in near enough he scarcely had to raise his voice. He dismounted smoothly, sliding down the stallion’s bare back to land softly in the grass. The half-shadow's smile was warm, welcoming, Athras Eryn was in a good mood, indeed. “Lovely day for it.” He bent to pluck a wildflower from the emerald grasses, seeing no harm in the gesture now that winter was on its way.

Athras
New Caledonia
The Lord-Regent
User avatar
Stormie
Luperci Priest I, Diplomat I, Rogue I

POSTED: Tue Oct 08, 2019 7:41 pm

Borne long ago from ingenuity and the creative stirrings of an imaginative mind, it wasn't so difficult to believe that fishing, with its myriad techniques and styles, could be considered something akin to an art form. Was the knotting of nets so terribly different from the stitching of cloth? How disparate, truly, was the carefully balanced strike of a spear at a fish beneath water from the one necessary to hit an opponent while sparring? What dissimilarities existed between the crafting of a fishing pole and that of a bow?

Few enough, so far as Percival was concerned, so as to make them trivial. The culture of Krokar flowed in strong currents within his blood and the beliefs of the riverfolk was imprinted permanently upon his soul. He was a fisherman, and though few seasons yet had left their mark, he was determined to master the art of his forbears.

Starting here.

Starting now.

Passing over the verdant meadow grasses in confident and meaningful steps, Percy tried to quell the growing excitement (and anticipatory pride) rising within his chest but the act was proving more difficult than usual. As a compromise to himself, the young Parhelion allowed a small smile to curl his lips and, though he knew it to be dangerous, even dared to imagine the praise he was sure to receive upon his return to the City Square with a full net near-bursting with fish.

The grasses beneath his paws softened the closer he got to the narrow tributary, the ground cool and spongy as he slipped past the reeds to where the wooden poles rose of the water like arms lifted in greeting. A gentle rent in the surface of the stream followed behind each of the poles, visibly defining the soft strength of the current. Percival paused at the water's edge and peered down, searching for the shimmering of scales between the weir and the net that would tell of his success.

He crouched, nutmeg eyes sweeping expectantly over the surface. But the longer he searched, the heavier his bushy brows grew. Before long, Percival was frowning and trying to recall how deep this little tributary was when he was pushing the poles into the silt. Not that deep. Not deep enough that his monumental catch should all be hiding deep beyond view. Still frowning, the bearded Parhelion slipped into the stream's depths and waded toward the weir.

The nearer Percy waded, the further (and quicker) his heart – along with any hopes and dreams of bounty and praise he had previously entertained – sank. With shock and horror, his eyes drifted past the wooden poles to where the net had been secured... and where he should still have been secured. Instead, waving uselessly in the gentle current of the little tributary, the net hung on by only one side of the weir, leaving the entire width of water free for any fish to swim safely on through.

Lifting a hand to his face, Percival closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and thumb, taking solace in the fact that he was the only one witness to this greatest of failures.

"Ah, another Cormier."

Snapping open his eyes and drawing the hand from his face, the young man turned to find his luck sour even more. "Oh," he uttered. You've gotta be kidding me. "Lord-Regent." A slow wag of his tail and a pinched smile aided his greeting. What've I done to deserve this? "Uh, yeah... I'm Percival Parhelion." He tried out a small chuckle but it came out dry and flat. "It sure is."

Percival tried to sound cheery and cleared his throat awkwardly, watching as the Lord selected a sacrifice from the field and lifted it up. Hopelessly, he found himself wishing that fishing, in this singular moment, could be so easy. "I, uh..." He glanced back at his failed first attempt at a fishing weir and brushed his nose with the flesh of his thumb. "Was just... Well, do you know much 'bout fishin'?" he asked, deciding to take an educative approach to his failure.

[WC — 694]


New Caledonia
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Mandi
Luperci Diplomat I, Piscator I we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(
Brave New World
timshel

POSTED: Wed Oct 23, 2019 3:21 pm

[377]

Thumbing the flower between his fingers, Athras breathed in its soft fragrance. Clever fingers twisted and turned the firm stalk between them growing pensive at the thought of the season’s turn. Soon the wildflowers would droop, wilting and wistful. Their petals would fall to the ground, drained of life and color until they became one with the soil. The grasses verdant now would cease to grow. Their stalks would bend, their color leached by the bitter winter that with the fall of leaves would soon come to call. And in turn, the deer that graze upon their tender shoots would thin and slow so the predators of New Caledonia could grow hale and hearty on their flesh. What a time to be alive!

The young Cormier hardly shared his lord’s enthusiasm for when he turned it was sullen-backed and somber, the frail smile upon his bearded muzzle doing little to light his eyes in their spectacled mask. The chuckle that followed fell lifeless and stale, and Athras wondered at the effort, did he think himself convincing? “Why, Percival,” The lord chided, though the twinkle in his eye was merry, and the wood-dark gravitas of his voice a mild thing. “Are you not happy to see me?”

The young man cleared his throat and curiously the lord’s gaze followed the path of his nutmeg eyes, seeing the poles for no more than they appeared until the man’s fidgeting made plain the subtle strain in his thick brows. And when asked...

Athras’s head tilted back with a bright peal of laughter, while not cruel in intention it was a startling thing. Sobering with a sigh his cyan eyes studied the wolfdog to find no trace of shared mirth. “Oh.” He exhaled. “You were serious?” The smile remained, a bright clash of teeth against his darker pelt and he elaborated without prodding. “No,” a shake of his head tumbled a few strands of his dark silk hair down a slight shoulder and his brilliant smile gave no apology. “Not at all.” He affirmed, but grew curious the more he gave thought to the young man’s demeanor and the unfamiliar construction standing amid the flow of a gentle current. “Were you attending something?” A tip of his head indicated the weir.

Athras
New Caledonia
The Lord-Regent
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Stormie
Luperci Priest I, Diplomat I, Rogue I

POSTED: Sun Nov 10, 2019 7:41 pm

Percival's floppy ears drooped lower and he glanced self-consciously away. "No— No! I mean, yes. Yes, of course I'm happy to... to see you." He cleared his throat and, again ran his fingers along his beard. "You just... I was just startled. I thought it was just Pim and me out here." Looking up again, Percival gestured to the brindled ox that grazed nearby.

There was little chance he'd be getting out of this situation without the truth of his failure coming to light so, with a sigh, Percy changed tactics. But the laughter that cracked apart Athras' lips and split the air around them mirthfully was definitely not the reaction the young Parhelion was expecting. Bewildered, all he could do was stare back at the Lord-Regent with his dark brows quirked quizzically.

"Uh..." he uttered softly. "Yes? As a matter of..." But the shake of his head and offered dialogue slowly quieted Percival's words. He watched as the man's long, dark tresses cascaded down a shoulder and tried not to think ill of the Lord-Regent when his bright smile offered no acknowledgement of any wrongs. The way he finally answered Percy question sounded almost barbed to the proud wolfdog, as though he had been a fool to ask.

Breathing deeply in, Percival remembered Keabetswe's lessons and nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed. "It's a fishin' trap. Only problem is, well..." Again, he cleared his throat. "I have some adjustments t' make." It was bad enough seeing that he hadn't caught anything. He didn't want to admit it aloud, too. "It seems that one of the knots keepin' the net in place loosened, and... Well, if you don't got a secure net, there's nothing to trap th' fish."

He would have to do more to show his devotion to the River Goddess, and to Nín, next time.

[WC — 320]


New Caledonia
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User avatar
Mandi
Luperci Diplomat I, Piscator I we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(
Brave New World
timshel

New Caledonia